He Was Never Left
by StriderX
Summary: or...When Aramis was kidnapped and left to die in the snow. Set a few months pre-d'Artagnan. Enough brotherly bonds to warm your heart. (Rated T for some blood, non-graphic remembrance of kidnapping,injuries, and thematic elements) Will post in completion before New Years Eve.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** In expectation of the coming season, I'd like to add a small winter story to our growing collection. I realized after I finished this that quite a few authors have been writing tales along the same premise, but I hope mine might stand on its own as much as any other heart-full story. As it is, I have written this in its entirity and will post in completeness before the week is out. It will be three or four chapters, so please feel free to follow if you enjoy. Thank you for your time :)

 _Disclaimer:_ I do not own or profit from any copyrighted aspects of this story.

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 **He Was Never Left...**

 **By: StriderX**

Aramis knew that it would be long before he could sleep, after everything that happened; his brother's did, too. Of course he wouldn't say anything, and, at first, Athos and Porthos thought it best to give their brother his space…for a couple minutes, anyway. They knew their Aramis well. He was most assuredly among the bravest and valiant of all men who had ever walked the earth, but he was also a most uncommonly sensitive and gentle soul. Very few knew him well enough under his brash, philandering exterior to see it, but Athos and Porthos had no trouble. Treville saw it, too; a fact which he readily displayed when giving Athos explicit instructions for the three to take their time getting back to the garrison once they'd found their lost brother. Athos had no trouble following this order to the letter.

For they knew all the things about dear Aramis that the man himself pretended were not so. They knew he was afraid of being left behind, that he never slept well alone, and that his love-aching heart pained him nearly constantly.

These secret facts naturally made Athos inhumanly protective, Treville unendingly worried, and Porthos wishing nothing more than to wrap his brother in as may bear hugs as possible, just to make the smaller man smile. Though, being soldiers, these attitudes were rarely ever displayed, and even rarer still that all three hardened men so openly panicked at the same time.

That being said, when Aramis had been held prisoner by a madman, beaten, and left in the woods to die alone, his family had no greater cause than to find him, wrap him in the warmest blanket, and hold him until he healed.

Initially, upon his rescue, he had put up a greater front of nonchalance then Athos or Porthos would ever have thought possible…or healthy.

They'd found him sitting on the frozen ground, leaning painfully against a small snow drenched tree. This fact alone had Athos and Porthos alight with terror. Given Aramis's tragedy in Savoy, there was no worse environment for the gentle heart to have been abandoned. His captors had left him with a single loaded pistol (to do with what a dying man will); the sharpshooter used the last of his strength to shakily aim it into the glistening forest when a twig suddenly snapped in the distance. In the moment before Aramis realized it was his brothers coming to save him, they were able to see his face: his emotions true and unguarded. Fear rippled through his chocolate eyes and burned into the two Musketeer's hearts deeper than any brand or sword.

Without a conscious thought, Porthos called out to their lost brother and leapt from his horse, sprinting for him with Athos close behind.

The moment Porthos yelled, Aramis visibly deflated, pistol dropping and a trembling sigh escaping his lips. By the time Athos and Porthos slid to his side, a happy smile, though tight and tired, lit his face and eyes sparkled in old jest. "You're l-losing you touch," said Aramis, his voice light and lying even with the slur of cold and hitch of pain. "I could h-hear you a mi-ile away."

Together Athos and Porthos grinned with bated relief. So much emotion was stuck in their throats, neither one could come up with any reply. Porthos only wrapped a gentle arm around Aramis's shoulder while Athos ran a warm hand over their lost brother's hair. As gentle as they were, it didn't take long for Aramis to wince, and their worries instantly returned tenfold. "You're hurt," growled Porthos.

Aramis shook his head.

Not bothering to roll his eyes, Athos kept his hand grounded warmly at the back of Aramis's neck. The beaten man was far too cold. "You don't need to lie, Aramis. It's just us."

There was a terrible sigh, and Aramis's smile faltered for just a moment. "I'll be f-fine once we get out of this…this b-blasted cold."

Porthos and Athos exchanged a dark glance. They knew there was so much more to that one simple sentence than Aramis could possibly speak.

Taking charge, Athos bent a little to meet their wounded brother's eyes. "Then tell us what's hurt so we can help."

After throwing a heatless glare, Aramis closed his eyes and leaned his head back into Athos's hand. "A f-few bruises, mostly. Someth'ng's wr-wrong with m-my left ankle," Porthos could plainly see the frustration etched in Aramis's face. Whether it was for the uncharacteristic drawl and stutter of his speech or the self-loathing from his predicament; that was the question. If Porthos had to guess, he'd say it was probably both.

"Can you walk on it?" Porthos.

Still not bothering to open his eyes, Aramis shook his head. "Tried. I-it wasn't…graceful."

Porthos snorted a deep huff, his hand tightening around Aramis's shoulder. "You? Ungraceful? Blasphemy."

All three laughed for a moment, but it was Athos to sober first. Tearing his eyes back to the forest, he spotted their three horses hovering a few yards away. Though it was their custom to wander off when not tied, Athos thought with some pride that they must've understood the urgency of staying close. Maybe it was riding for days without barely a break, or the fact that Aramis's horse had been trotting behind without his rider…they just knew everything was not right. Truthfully, now that they'd found their lost brother, Athos was questioning bringing Aramis's beloved mare at all. Of course he'd be happy to see her, but Athos seriously doubted Aramis could ride on his own all the way back to Paris. But, he steeled himself. This was Aramis. And part of his healing would be riding out of here on his own horse, no matter how much pain it caused. "Well, ungraceful as it might be, it's far time to head home."

"Thank God for that," Aramis sighed truthfully.

Wordlessly, Porthos and Athos each took one of Aramis's arms and gently worked to pull their brother to his feet. Aramis gritted his teeth and grunted only slightly; an action the other two both knew meant he was hiding more than just bruises.

Once he was standing, Aramis realized just how much he _didn't_ want to walk. Taking a breath he whistled sharply (though maybe a bit brokenly), and his mare, a sturdy black Percheron by the name of Trista, instantly came trotting toward them. Athos's response was barely to shake his head, while Porthos laughed heartily. "How you do that, I'll never know."

Aramis smiled, he really did, but they all knew it came out more of a grimace than anything. "It's all in trust, my im-patient friend," then, when he leaned out a trembling hand to pet the nose of his strong girl, Aramis truly did smile. "Trust your horse, and she will never let you down."

Porthos spared a look at his own mare and snickered even as she whinnied loudly and turned away. "I'll hav'ta work on that."

"C'mon then. Let's get you up on your trusted horse," chimed in Athos, eyeing the height of Trista's tall back with unease.

Aramis, apparently, had thought of this, too. Sucking in a short breath, he allowed his friends to steer him toward the mare's left side. Slowly, Porthos helped him life his arm up toward the pommel of the saddle as Athos steadied him. "You sure ya' wan'na try this?"

Aramis replied only with a nod as he mentally braced himself.

After trading a brief glance with Athos, Porthos leaned down, bracing himself to lift Aramis by his left knee, above the injured ankle. He tried not to think about how much it would still hurt his brother, especially since he largely doubted it was Aramis's only injury. "Count of three, yeah?"

The scene could have been heartening, if not for the pain involved. At three, Athos lifted poor Aramis by the waist while Porthos pushed up from his bent knee. For his part, Aramis gave it his all to pull himself into the saddle, but even as his eyes screwed shut and he struggled to bite back a scream, he knew he was failing miserably. In the end, it was Athos to help swing his right leg over the saddle and Porthos to keep him from falling back off when he swayed. After a few moments of bated silence as the brothers let Aramis catch his breath, Porthos gently patted Aramis's leg. "You good?"

While ashen and sallow, Aramis managed a tight smile as he forced himself to straighten and take up Trista's reigns. If Athos or Porthos noticed Aramis's hands shaking, they didn't say a word.

They both turned back to quickly hop on their own horses and separated wordlessly to make a place without question for Aramis between them. For once the stubborn soldier didn't argue, but merely let his mare wander to a nook tightly between the companions that were as close to her as their riders were to Aramis.

Athos knew it was at least two days ride to home that would no doubt be riddled with pain for his dear friend. Unfortunately, he also knew that for at least tonight, there would be no inn in sight. It certainly wasn't ideal for an injured man who bordered on the hypothermic as it was, but add a long history of snow-induced post-traumatic stress on top of that…

It would be a difficult night.

oooooooooooooooo

They were just an hour into their slow trek through the woods when Aramis started fading. Porthos could tell he'd been giving it everything he had: fighting to sit as tall as possible with an expression as close to normal as he could muster. He knew the poor lad just wanted to pretend the whole event never happened. But as the minutes trickled passed, his back curled a little more and features fell a little deeper with each snowy step of his horse. An absent hand had wrapped itself around his ribs and the other rested on his thigh; the reigns slipped loosely between his fingers, forgotten.

Cautiously, Porthos nudges in a bit closer and laid a hand on Aramis's slouching shoulder. "You still wit' us?"

Starting slightly, Aramis still attempted a smile, even despite himself. But it was not lost on either of his friends that, while a smirk had managed to reach his lips, he didn't move the least to straighten. Instantly, Porthos made an executive decision, surprising both Athos and Aramis alike, and drove his horse in front of Trista's path, stopping both his and Aramis's horses flat. While Athos raised a curious brow, Porthos was swinging off his mare and shifting toward Aramis.

"Wha're y'doing, P'thos?"

Completely ignoring the alarming slur to Aramis's weak fight, Porthos gently slid Aramis's injured foot forward, reached to bury his own foot in the stirrup, and mutely lifted himself onto the mare's back, just behind the saddle. It wasn't the most comfortable position, and Trista bristled a little at the added weight, but just the idea of being close to Aramis meant more right then than anything else.

Aramis tried to look affronted at the intrusion on his horse, but Athos could tell he was relieved. Especially so when Porthos silently reached around Aramis's waist, took the reins, and leaned in a bit closer. "Rest, mate. I got'cha."

Instantly relaxing back with a shuddered sigh, Aramis smiled tiredly. "Careful there…p-people migh' star't'talk," Aramis closed his eyes against the warm vibration at his back as his brother chuckled. Behind them, Athos picked up the reins of Porthos's horse and led her along with a smirk pulling at his eyes. They had a long road still yet to make camp for the night, but at least for now, Aramis could rest.

 **TBC...**

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 **A/N:** Thank you so much for reading! Reviews make my day, as do favorites :) Hope you've enjoyed to come back for the next chapter, to be posted soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you all so greatly for your kind follows, favorites, and reviews! I'm sorry this second installment is so short; it was difficult to find a proper breaking point. The completion will be uploaded tomorrow! Enjoy.

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 _Aramis tried to look affronted at the intrusion on his horse, but Athos could tell he was relieved. Especially so when Porthos silently reached around Aramis's waist, took the reins, and leaned in a bit closer. "Rest, mate. I got'cha."_

 _Instantly relaxing back with a shuddered sigh, Aramis smiled tiredly. "Careful there…p-people migh' star't'talk," Aramis closed his eyes against the warm vibration at his back as his brother chuckled. Behind them, Athos picked up the reins of Porthos's horse and led her along with a smirk pulling at his eyes. They had a long road still yet to make camp for the night, but at least for now, Aramis could rest._

 **Chapter 2**

It was three hours later by the time their little band reached the small outcropping of rock they'd used as a camp the night before. And good timing, too, for there was an evening snow beginning to fall and Porthos had been glancing over at Athos with an increasing worry for at least an hour now.

Aramis had been unconscious since shortly after Porthos joined him on his horse. Head lolling against Porthos's shoulder and breathing choppy and harsh, he looked every bit a man close to death. Porthos had been trying his best to shield his ailing brother from the cold, but his clothes were sodden and torn and the cloak Porthos had slung over him could only keep out the most bitter parts of the breeze.

The clearing was small, but possibly the best site for their needs. The overhanging rock created a three-sided tent just big enough for the small group, and a weaving of branches in the trees above made for a place just dry enough to keep a fire going and the snow from drowning them.

Athos leapt from his horse first, hastily tying off his and Porthos's horses to a tree, before rushing to his friend's side. Porthos had been trying to gently rouse their beloved sharpshooter, but his eyes were bleary and hardly conscious when they finally drifted open. "'ey, 'Mis. We're gon'na stop for the night," he left the implication of getting off the horse silent, but Aramis managed a weak nod anyway. He straightened minutely, although, even in his state, he knew he was at the mercy of his brothers now.

That thought couldn't have made him happier, nor more content, his present agonies aside.

Without a word, Athos reached up, priming himself to catch Aramis as Porthos gingerly eased him out of the saddle. In reality, it all happened rather quickly and with a smoothness that (unfortunately) denoted expertise. In naught but a moment, Aramis was leaning heavily into Athos's arms and Porthos was leaping off the tired horse behind him.

Taking advantage of his free moment, Porthos hastily brought Trista to the other horses, unwrapped all the blankets they had, and laid them on the ground, close to where he knew the fire would soon be.

With some difficulty, Athos helped Aramis to the blanket-covered spot and lowered him down. The man was too far gone by now to attempt any sort of stubbornness; he whimpered openly as he wilted onto the blankets still warm from their horse's backs. Porthos had vanished to collect suitable wood and kindling while Athos hovered by their charge. He ached so badly to take away the pain, to actually know what ailed their precious brother (aside from the obvious), but all he could do was crouch beside him, silently asking what he could do.

Sensing his unease, Aramis forced his eyes open from where they had slid shut and pushed his expression into the slightest of smiles. "Don't w'rry, 'Thos. 'll b-be okay."

He was trying _so hard_ not to slur or shiver just to reassure his friend, Athos had to return the look. Placing a hand impossibly gentle in that intimate place just by Aramis's neck, he replied, "I know you will, 'Mis, but you know we're going to worry, anyway," then, smile dropping and words darkening, added, "Let us help you through this."

Aramis faltered then. He tried to busy himself with watching Porthos light the fire and gather a pot and pile of fresh snow for hot water, but eventually he matched Athos's gaze again. The sheer brightness alighting above the dullness there scared Athos. "Everythin' h-hurts. F-feels like becomin'n i-icicle..."

"You're thawing out. Let's get 'ya warm first, then," suddenly, Porthos had appeared behind him, sat, and gathered him up into an enveloping embrace. After helping remove Aramis's sodden outerwear, Athos wrapped the blankets around both his brothers, leaving only enough of an opening in the soft cave for the fire's hot air to permeate.

Once satisfied, he backed away to care for their horses, set up the sleeping area, and gather some wine and supper. As he worked, he constantly found himself glancing at his brothers, reassuring himself that Aramis was really with them, still alive.

By now Aramis had fallen asleep again, but in much more comfort than before, even with the increasing shivering as his blood began its slow crawl to warmth. Porthos had his back against a tree, absently running delicate circles across his best friend's back. They were completely lost in the blankets he thanked God they thought to bring, but what Athos could make out warmed his trembling heart. All he could see of Aramis was a tiny out cropping of hair from its place at the crook of Porthos's neck. He'd turned to his side as he fell asleep, unashamedly curling into the larger Musketeer's lap as he soaked in the warmth of rescue. Athos knew if he could see it, Aramis's features would be swathed in pain as fading numbness brought forgotten injuries to light, but at least the fear seemed to have vanished for now. Porthos, for his part, was lost in his own world, still recovering from the terror of thinking their dear brother was dead, and worse, imagining what horrors the poor soul must have faced in the silence of the abandoned wood before they found him.

Athos knew that as far as Porthos was concerned, Aramis would never leave their sight again.

Athos couldn't agree more.

Eventually, with everything set, Athos himself found a place by the fire and poked at the stew he had slowly bowling in their pot. Porthos hadn't moved his gaze from the flames in over an hour, and Athos sighed. "Too close this time," he murmured, eyes locked on the shape of Aramis under the wool.

Careful not to wake their companion, Porthos snorted a little. "Every time is too close, in my opinion," then, turning his gaze downward, shifted his arm up to wrap around Aramis's shoulder as it softly rose and fell with every wounded breath. "Man has a penchant for trouble...an' a curse in the snow."

Athos shook his head, desperately wishing he could share something even a little encouraging. If he were honest, such sentiments were never his forte, but Porthos knew that, too. "There will be nightmares again, after this."

Porthos sighed despite himself, absently curling around Aramis a little tighter. "I know."

oooooooooooooooooooo

Another hour later, after the sun had already set and the fire was glowing bright, bathing their camp in warmth, Athos knew they needed to tend to Aramis's injuries...as much as it pained him to wake him.

Porthos knew this, too, and carefully made to shift Aramis slightly higher against his chest. "'ay, 'Mis. Wakey, wakey, sleepin' beauty."

Athos pulled back the blankets a little and nearly grinned. Despite all he must hurt, Aramis had shrunk himself as tight as he could with one arm tucked around his waist and the other with a sleepy fist in Porthos's shirt. His brow crinkled when Porthos shifted under him, and he unconsciously turned his cheek further into Porthos's neck. Aramis always looked younger than his years, but this was ridiculous.

"He never did wake easy," Athos noted as he moved to jostle Aramis's shoulder just slightly. "Aramis, you need to wake for a moment...you need to eat, and your wounds need tending."

Groaning like a child, Aramis began to rise, slowly. "Not hungry," he murmured. "...jus' need sleep."

Rolling his eyes, Athos wouldn't have anything of it. "This won't take long and then you can sleep all you want."

The process of getting Aramis up and lucid was a little more difficult the any of them would have liked; with his drowsiness and slurred speech, it had become quite apparent that he had at least a small concussion. That, coupled with the silence of the dark winter wood, had Aramis left with little concern for his pride and even less for his emotions. He never made a move from Porthos's hold, aside to let the bigger man up to relieve himself, and even then it was only a moment before Porthos was supporting his weight again. Surly, if he'd been in his right mind and not frozen solid with cold and fear, Aramis would never dream of allowing himself to be so coddled. But as he was, there wasn't a part in him that cared of his pride, his shame; even the usually overwhelming sense of acting in the way that every man internally believed to be _strong_.

He'd managed to eat a little, but it wasn't long before he'd set down his bowl with unsteady hands, mentioning a sudden nausea that Athos had been grimly expecting. Definitely a concussion.

Bending low beside his brothers, Athos forced on his best _'don't lie to me'_ face. He waited until Aramis got his stomach under control and eventually met his stare. "I know this is the last thing you want to think about now, but-"

"Y'need to know about m'injuries," Aramis mustered with a sleepy smirk. "'s okay." Then, grounding himself, Aramis took silent comfort in Porthos's warm grip on his arm. He knew he didn't have to tell them everything, but in a way, he also knew if he didn't get it out now, he never would. Even if the whole event was nothing in comparison to the past, it would just eat him alive if he kept it...just like Savoy.

There was no sound for a long moment, and Athos was afraid his brother had already begun to lose himself, until there was a deep sigh and Aramis ran a trembling hand through his dirtied hair. "Most of it was jus'...the run of 't mill kidnapping," he had to pause every few words to gain his breath. But, he thought wistfully, at least the shivering had diminished. "There's a...few cracked ribs, 'think ankle go' stepped on...maybe kicked in 't head…other places,"

With each word, Porthos found himself struggling with his temper, and Athos fisted both hands so tightly he'd have surly drawn blood if not for his gloves.

Aramis took a few hitched breaths, closed his eyes, and leaned further against Porthos. "Shoulder...dislocated...'put it back in 'lready. Dunked my head...in water a few times...d'n much r'member."

Seething, Athos fought to keep his voice calm. "How long were you left in the woods?"

Their hearts both froze when Aramis shook his head. His expression suddenly fell from tired resignation to heartbroken. "...can't..."

Both knew in that second Aramis had reached his limit. He really _had_ wanted to tell them, but…he was just so tired. There were unbidden tears welling up in his dark eyes, and he turned just slightly; an unasked signal for comfort that Porthos could not ignore. He wrapped his arms tight around their broken brother, even as Athos rested a protective hand just above the knee of Aramis's uninjured leg.

"AHH!" the action was an unexpected distraction when Aramis suddenly cried out at the light pressure. Recoiling at the blood suddenly staining his hand, Athos featured morphed into a medic's: stony and grave.

"How'd we miss that?" Porthos nearly yelled.

Athos didn't respond, only worked to speedily tear Aramis's dark pant leg around the apparent wound.

"Oh," Aramis winced, somewhat grateful for the distraction himself. "and then there's that."

Athos frown deepened further when he finally saw the gash, bloody and raw and edging on the beginnings of infection. Words dripping with the harsh venom of worry, Athos growled, "Why didn't you mention this before, you fool?"

Aramis shrugged, not the slightest concerned by Athos's tone. "Forgot."

"Porthos, go to the bags and get the kit," Athos ordered, eyes never leaving the wound.

Nodding shortly, Porthos eased Aramis to lean back against the tree that had been Porthos's backrest and bolted.

Later, Aramis found he could remember little of the whole affair. He remembered a dull pain, a blinding agony, gentle voices, and a beautiful view of trees glowing under moonlit sky before a blissfully darkness settled around him.

The reality found Athos unapologetically scraping out any sign of injection from deep in the flesh, grimacing at the slick of Aramis's too-warm blood as it oozed through his fingers. Porthos held the wounded man down, begging to anyone who would hear to swiftly let the man past out. Athos worked as quickly as he could while being thorough and doused the gash in wine without warning. Aramis screamed for the first time then; a harsh, ragged yell tearing from his throat and far into the brisk air. Porthos felt his eyes burning for the hot tears streaming down Aramis's face, but instantly stilled when Aramis breathed out once last pained breath, arched his head back and finally, he fainted.

 **TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Though it may not be much, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to _Linguam_ , who's left me two very beautiful reviews. Thank you, sincerely. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations!

As always, I apologize for any grammatical errors...I work mostly at night (usually half asleep haha).

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 _The reality found Athos unapologetically scraping out any sign of injection from deep in the flesh, grimacing at the slick of Aramis's too-warm blood as it oozed through his fingers. Porthos held the wounded man down, begging to anyone who would hear to swiftly let the man past out. Athos worked as quickly as he could while being thorough and doused the gash in wine without warning. Aramis screamed for the first time then; a harsh, ragged yell tearing from his throat and far into the brisk air. Porthos felt his eyes burning for the hot tears streaming down Aramis's face, but instantly stilled when Aramis breathed out once last pained breath, arched his head back and finally, he fainted._

 **Chapter 3**

"About time," Athos visibly sagged in relief as he threaded the stitching needle.

Porthos's head shook. He made no effort to wipe away his own subtle tears as he shifted from holding Aramis down, to cradling him gently. "Isn't right..." he found he couldn't continue; his voice choked him like week-old bread.

But he didn't really need to. Athos bit away rare tears of his own, though only so he could see clear enough to stitch cleanly. Stitching was Aramis's forte; as far as Athos was concerned, that fact alone should immunize Aramis from ever needing someone to stich _him_.

Once convinced the wound was bound and safe from returning septicity, Athos thought it prudent to take advantage of the time Aramis was out. Working together with Porthos, he checked for any other _forgotten_ life-threatening injuries. Happy to find none but despaired at the sheer number of bruises, shallow cuts, and welts along his body, both brothers sighed. At least his fever was to a minimum, if nothing else.

"Well, he'll be in pain for a while yet, but his body will heal, thank God," Athos finally announced. As he watched the larger Musketeer nod tiredly, he suddenly felt the adrenaline collectively fall from their little camp like melting snow, leaving nothing but exhaustion behind.

Wearily, he moved to place a few more logs on the fire before nodding toward the tiny sleeping cave. "Get some rest with him, Porthos. I'll wake you in a few hours."

Unusually docile, Porthos effortlessly picked up his brother like he would a small child and crouched into the nearby space. Athos's eyes crinkled sadly as Porthos took great care in tucking Aramis into the blankets they had warmed by the fire and carefully laid down beside him.

People would always say what they will about their tiny, unusual family, but in truth, Athos didn't care what anyone said (and most were too afraid of the famous Musketeers to speak out, anyway). They were brothers and they would always care for each other. If that meant sleeping close and embracing often, then so be it. Especially when it was Aramis who needed protecting. In reality, it was such a rare occurrence that Aramis could not handle his own affairs that they almost relished the ability to care for him…even though both Porthos and Athos agreed they'd much rather Aramis never be in pain enough to _need_ help at all.

ooooooooooooooooooo

While Porthos settled in for some much needed rest, Athos took the quiet time with a deep appreciation to relax himself. There was a great part of Athos that always loved the winters in Northern France more than all else. With a blanket of freshly fallen snow alighting the night under a crisp moon sparkling in a newly clear sky, it was as near to silent perfection as Athos could imagine. Of course, his love had been tainted slightly by his constant worry for Aramis this time of year, but still. If Savoy had happened in summer, he would worry through the heat, too. That is not to say, however, that Aramis particularly needed someone to worry over him, but as it was said: they were brothers, and while Athos would never admit to it, he was terrified of ever losing either of them.

That being noted, Athos loved camping out this time of year. In a cushion of white, there wasn't a single sound from dusk till dawn. He could hear everything, even a twig snap hundreds of yards away. He knew they were in no particular danger at the moment; he knew from a messenger that Treville and the regiment had yesterday morning killed, maimed, or otherwise arrested all those involved in Aramis's kidnapping. So, all this into account, Athos let his mind wander. Half empty bottle in hand, he stared into the glowing fire with a deadness in eyes that betrayed all the buried fractures of his heart.

No matter what he tried, his thoughts always drifted to the past the moment the moon rose. He thought of Anne, briefly, but mostly, glancing up to where his friends laid, he thought of Thomas. At a boy of only twenty when he died, Athos couldn't help but wonder what kind of man he might have become. Would he be wise? Courageous? Or would he have grown dark and wasted away? For his own hearts sake, Athos had to believe there was a light in Thomas that somehow found itself fused in a brilliant star above…even if his regrettably wizening mind came more and more to believe his late wife's description of the boy.

The thought terrified him, and abruptly forced his thoughts back to the present—to the peace, to the snow; to the relief of finding Aramis still breathing.

Even with the injuries and the emotional damage, he knew they were very, _very_ lucky. After four days without him, both he and Porthos had begun to dread the worst. Finding their brother half-buried in the snow…that was bad enough.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

The first few hours of his watch went by quietly and without disturbance. So much so that after the exhaustion of the last few days, Athos found himself slowly drifting as he watched his brothers sleep. In their rest, Porthos had opened his arms and gently wrapped up Aramis like a small teddy bear. The fact that Aramis was able to stay unconscious under Porthos's heavy snores was proof alone of the man's tiredness. Aramis himself didn't make a sound—not that he ever did—but simply wove himself into the bigger man's grasp: head resting on Porthos's arm and arms curled somewhere between his chest and Porthos's side. He was leaning unconsciously on his right side and Athos figured there were more breaks on the left half of his ribcage than the other.

It wasn't till early in the morning, when the moon was peaking high above the trees that the terrors finally hit Aramis's mind again. Porthos had just begun to stir from the biological alarm for his shift as watch. Athos was almost asleep, leaning heavier and heavier against the saddle at his back.

Both suddenly bolted awake when a scarce whimper echoed through their camp.

As Athos jumped to his feet and rushed beside them, and Porthos placed a forcibly calm hand on Aramis's trembling shoulder. The sharpshooter's features were rapidly tightening against the nightmare—the _memories_ —playing out in his mind. "Aramis, wake up…you're dreamin'," he tried cautiously.

Athos joined them, crouching in the small space with an ungloved hand alighting through Aramis's hair—a gesture that had always helped in the past.

After sharing a quick glace with Athos, Porthos pressed himself a little closer to their suffering brother, protectively lifting him to his warm chest. If Aramis was stuck in the terrors, they both knew the only thing to get him out was contact and warmth. And they _had_ to pull him out. Quickly. "C'mon 'Mis, wake up now,"

" _No…c…cold…pl's…"_

The words were broken and slurred as Aramis weakly tossed his head. One hand was fisting in Porthos's shirt, whilst the other had found Athos's unoccupied hand.

"Aramis!" Athos barked, words aching with anxiety. His hand worked to cup the dreamer's cheek and hold his thrashings still. "Come back to us, brother. You're not alone. You're safe, we found you. Wake up and see."

There was little response for a while, and as Porthos looked at Athos with wide eyes for guidance, it seemed there was nothing they could do but let the horrors play out as they would. But then, quite abruptly, Aramis jerked up with a yelp, surprising both of his brothers from the sheer force of it. For a moment, they were all still; Porthos still keeping a hand on Aramis's back and Athos still grasping his hand as the trembling man sat dazed, hopelessly trying to regain the world around him.

"Aramis?" Athos called very quietly like he was trying to coax a frightened child from a murky corner. More then anyone, he and Porthos knew well that even though Aramis might be alert, that didn't always mean he was _aware_. "Are you awake?"

With a weight that dropped in Porthos's heart, Aramis lowered his head and waved a weak hand in response. "'m okay…just…need a minute."

"Take all the time ya' need," Porthos rubbed a hand over Aramis's back.

The brothers were endlessly patient as they waited for Aramis to soothe himself. Eventually, when the stillness of the night again nested around them, Aramis shifted back with a grunt. The numbness of sleep was fading off, replaced by a vicious reminder of every injury wracking his body. Porthos was quick to support him, aiding his smaller brother to lean against the cushioned stone wall behind them.

"Sorry 'bout that," Aramis quipped with a little grimace meant to be a smile.

Despite himself, Porthos chuckled a bit. Of course Aramis would still find it in him to try and ease his brothers. Athos wasn't so persuaded; more concerned with the deep red bandage peeking through the blankets, clinging to Aramis's leg. With much effort, he bit it back. That wound could wait for a moment. There were deeper ones that needed tending at present. "How's the pain?"

Struggling to keep his eyes light, Aramis kept up his little smirk. "Worse than before, but at least I'm not cold anymore."

"You're not slurrin', either. Tha's a good sign," Porthos chimed in, hand never leaving Aramis's shoulder.

"Indeed. I was worried about your hard head," Athos attempted to joke before rapidly turning serious again. "It's still late in the night. Think you can sleep again?"

Sighing, Aramis raised a hand through his tangled hair. "I'd prefer not, but I'm not sure my body will give me much choice…everything's a little blurry around the edges."

"In that case, I need to check your leg. You still feel a little warm."

Aramis nodded. Of course he knew it had to be done.

Wordlessly, Athos cut away the old bandage while Porthos gathered supplies for cleaning and rewrapping. Aramis kept quiet through the whole process, tired eyes pointedly never meeting the wound. If Athos noticed this uncharacteristic behavior, he didn't mention it. The poor man had enough to deal with. Seeing a hatchet-sized gash in his thigh was certainly not an image he needed.

By the time Athos was finished, satisfied that the infection was healing and the stitches were holding, Aramis was already fading away again. Porthos had heated some broth just before and coerced the wounded brother to sip it until it was gone. It would seem now that the warmth in his belly was all he needed to settle his weary mind.

The sleeping draught Porthos might have slipped into the bowl had nothing at all to do with Aramis's sudden calm, of course.

Athos smirked a little as they lowered Aramis back to lay in his nest of blankets and Porthos admitted his guilt in the matter. Aramis heard the admission, too, but didn't register passed a simple snort. "Traitor…" he murmured lazily before collapsing into a deep, painless slumber.

 **TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** A very great thanks to all for reading this. I hope it was a heart-warming way to end out the old year! Now, for your pleasure, the conclusion.

* * *

 _By the time Athos was finished, satisfied that the infection was healing and the stitches were holding, Aramis was already fading away again. Porthos had heated some broth just before and coerced the wounded brother to sip it until it was gone. It would seem now that the warmth in his belly was all he needed to settle his weary mind._

 _The sleeping draught Porthos might have slipped into the bowl had nothing at all to do with Aramis's sudden calm, of course._

 _Athos smirked a little as they lowered Aramis back to lay in his nest of blankets and Porthos admitted his guilt in the matter. Aramis heard the admission, too, but didn't register passed a simple snort. "Traitor…" he murmured lazily before collapsing into a deep, painless slumber._

 **Chapter 4**

"Well played," commended Athos as he and Porthos stood back by the still glowing fire and watched their brother snuggle into the warmth they left behind.

"He would've fought it the whole night, otherwise," the big fighter replied, shaking his head.

There was a heavy silence between them as they both sat, sipping on their own (untainted) bowls of soup.

Eventually Porthos let out a deep sigh and ran a hand over his face. "I'm afraid for him this time."

Athos stared quite resolutely into his cup, absently praying it would turn into a mug of wine. "He will heal, just like before…we'll make sure of it."

"But did he really heal before?"

The agony flooding over that one little question held so much melancholy weight that Athos thought it would crush them both.

It should be mentioned again at this point, that Aramis was far from a weak child. He was renowned as a strong, bold, and courageous oxymoron: a famous libertine who cherished women, a fierce Musketeer who abhorred violence, and an anguished recluse who craved the close company of his friends. These things and many others made that crushing weight wrenching on Porthos' and Athos's hearts even more deadening than the weight of the whole world if it crumbled down upon them.

It was truly an appalling thing that would destroy their impossible brother so thoroughly.

ooooooooooooooooooo

When the winter sun began its welcomed stream though the glistening silver birch trees, the quiet camp found all three brothers finally lost in a restful sleep. The fire had dimmed to vague remnants of glowing embers, to which Porthos had rolled close to when he succumbed to the early morning hours of his watch. Athos, for his part, had long lost his typical stoicism under the ruse of keeping Aramis warm. They were bundled together in a pile of blankets and jackets, Aramis wiggling himself atop Athos's chest, and Athos wrapping a heavy arm around the other's shoulders.

Athos woke first, as was his custom, but made not a move for fear of waking his brother. Glancing down, Athos smirked at the sight of Aramis's wild hair sprawled over his face and nose burrowed into a blanket. Athos was hot, almost uncomfortably so even with the snow settled around the camp, but he couldn't be happier. While Aramis felt a touch warmer than healthy, the single fact that he wasn't shivering was a plus in Athos's book.

Suddenly, Porthos was grunting as he pulled himself from sleep to a stiff slouch. Looking over, Athos caught his eyes and nodded softly: _He's alright_.

Porthos got the message instantly and smiled in return. Internally, he knew his closest friend was a far cry from _alright_ , but at least he was mending. With a shake out of sleep and cold, Porthos stoked the fire up again and started cooking breakfast for the three of them.

When the waft of morning stew dipped into their low sleeping cave, Athos figured it was time to wake their slight brother. Carefully running a half-asleep hand over Aramis's back and stroking the bangs off the sleeper's face with another, Athos tried to rouse him. "Aramis," he spoke softly, aware the poor man would like have a migraine from the last day's abuse. "It's morning, wake up now."

There was a grunt in response, then a shimmy closer into Athos's side (followed quickly by a sleepy whimper at the pain shifting had caused).

From his place outside, Porthos wasn't sure if he should smile or frown. The misery Aramis must feel was unbearable to Porthos's heart, but the unconscious rummage for comfort in his sleep was nothing short of adorable. Not that he would ever put that into words. He didn't need to; Athos felt it, too. At the helpless look from their leader, however, Porthos chuckled. He abandoned the fire for a moment to crouch low on Aramis's exposed side. Placing a hand over the wounded man's arm, Porthos shook lightly. "'ey, 'Mis. People're really gon'na talk if they see you sleepin' wit' Athos like this."

Athos rolled his eyes, but said nothing. There was another groan and Aramis shifted again, only a little.

"There you are," Porthos grinned. Athos couldn't see from his position, but he figured Aramis must've finally opened his eyes. "Good mornin',"

Grunting, Aramis turned back into Athos's chest, acting every bit a man stripped of any humiliation…or consciousness. There was only trust and openness left. After a moment or two, just after Athos let out a long-suffering sigh, Aramis seemed to stiffen and fully wake quite suddenly. Athos felt this, of course, and was quick to soothe his brother. His warm hand had never left Aramis's back. "It's alright, Aramis. It's just us here. Relax,"

The effect was immediate, leaving Aramis finally turning his head to meet his Athos's gaze. "Has anyone told you what a wonderful pillow you make?"

The words were soft and a bit broken, but Porthos and Athos both found themselves laughing, really laughing for the first time in days…for Athos, maybe even much longer than that. "Not today, no," Athos replied through a handsome grin.

Aramis hummed a bit and lazily made to sit up. Without thought of waiting to be asked, Porthos skillfully aided him to sit up while Athos supported him from behind. He was much stronger than yesterday, they knew, but it would be a while before his strength came back to him. Just sitting winded him and Porthos was about to help him lean against the wall when Aramis raised a weak hand. "'m okay, just need a minute."

Porthos frowned. "Last time you said that, you were anythin' but okay."

Glaring at the bigger man, Aramis wanted so much to argue. But he remembered last night, the last _week_ , all too well. Little bickerings and jokes that would normally make him laugh still felt hollow and aching. It felt like he'd spent years believing he'd never see them again… "I know."

Porthos exchanged a glance with Athos and his eyes lowered. Their Aramis was such a calm, relaxed attitude in their everyday life. Yes, much of it was a show, but it was comforting to them nonetheless. This traumatized, erratic man in their arms was an old stranger that reeked of agony and death—of _Savoy_.

They needed to get out of this god-forsaken forest as soon as possible. And more importantly, they needed to get him to _talk._

"Do you think you could eat?" Athos finally broke through the heavy silence, attempting a change of tactic.

Aramis nodded mutely, at first, but slowly, like a man coming alive, he shook himself back to the present and smiled. "Food never sounded better."

"Good," Athos returned the smile. "Porthos, help him get dressed, I'll fix the stew."

Even as Athos dolled out the thin soup, his eyes never left his brothers. Aramis was too compliant, too accepting of help. He'd barely made a sound when Porthos helped him put on his jacket, boots, and cloak (well dried by the fire overnight), and made even less when Porthos helped their brother hobble over to the fire.

Out of their little cave, Aramis quickly began to shudder in the frigid morning breeze. If Athos and Porthos sat a bit closer than normal while they ate, it wasn't mentioned. Porthos tried his best to draw Aramis into some type of conversation as they ate, but even if he'd been in the mood, his injuries were many and mind dulled with pain.

"What you think, 'ey 'Mis? 'm sure the inn'll have some cute li'l barmaid, just dyin' to wait—"

"How far are we from Paris?" Aramis's voice was sharp and low; Athos didn't think he'd even heard Porthos at all.

"Another day yet, at least…we're quite north," Athos supplied in between sips of soup.

Aramis sighed then, running that tell-tale hand through his hair. "I just want to get home and forget this mess."

The two protective brothers both lowered their bowls and turned to Aramis. "We will, Aramis. And until then, we'll all be together," said Athos, warmly.

"And that's a promise."

Aramis snorted a little laugh…then thought better of it with a hand tight around his ribs. He knew he wouldn't be able to rest until his heart was clear; he wouldn't make it another day trying to pretend he could heal on his own (or maybe at all). Dropping his head and peering blankly into the small fire, he sighed. "I really wasn't in the woods that long," he began quite abruptly, taking his brothers by surprise. "I feel like such a child. A few hours in the snow, and I just…"

His pause was haunting, and Porthos couldn't help reaching a hand to Aramis's shoulder.

Silence reigned for enough time that Athos wondered if Aramis had even planned on continuing. And then, "they gave me my pistol…I couldn't stop staring at it, but…" the trembling hand pulled through his hair again.

Porthos's soul plummeted in expectation of the coming reality.

"I didn't have the strength to lift it."

"No, Aramis," it was Athos to jump in front of their brother; gentle hands reaching for the agonized man's face, forcing his devoid eyes away from the flames. "It was because you _have_ strength that you _didn't_."

But Aramis wouldn't hear him, eyes filling with loathing and despair. "I…all I saw was bodies and blood… _everywhere_."

Athos's heart burst, and judging by the sniffle aside Aramis, Porthos's had, too. They both knew this had to happen—Aramis had to let go—but nothing would make this moment any less excruciating.

Suddenly, Aramis's features melted into anguish and eyes swelled with searing tears. "I-I'm so sorry…I thought…I didn't…" he gagged on the words and his voice burned away to a mere waft of exhale in the cold. "I thought you'd left me…"

"No, no," Athos murmured even as he lunged forward, enveloping his poor, dear brother in a desperate embrace. Behind them, Porthos cried silently, one hand tearing at his eyes and the other tightening around Aramis's uninjured shoulder.

The sobs of the broken man echoed through the forest like a rabbit ripped apart by a cruel fox. The sound alone shredded his brothers, but neither of them would move. Terrifying as it was, they'd been here before. This was the only way, and they knew it.

Long minutes passed. Gradually, Aramis sunk a little lower in Athos's arms and quieted to scarcely more then a snivel. As he did, Porthos could see the alarm slowly dripping off of Athos's features, and felt it lift from his own.

A few minutes more, and Aramis gathered himself up, shakily rubbing a hand over his face and straightening as much as his injuries would allow. He said nothing at first, but his brother's could feel the air rising a little lighter.

Then, another little, cleansed sigh. "'m sorry, lads…just can't seem to get a grip on myself," he laughed ineptly.

Forcing a tight smile, Porthos squeezed Aramis's shoulder again. The man was really something. "Would ya' quit apologizin'? It's us who's sorry for makin' ya' wait so long."

Aramis glared a Porthos like he'd suddenly grown another head, but Athos was unfazed. "Indeed. We would've given anything to find you sooner."

"An' we'll do anythin' to help you get right again."

A bitter laugh halted them. "I'm not sure I've ever been _right_ , my friend."

Porthos smirked. "Well, right by our standards, anyway."

At this, they all chuckled quietly, and Aramis found himself feeling… _less_ empty than he had since this whole disaster started.

ooooooooooooooooooo

While they finished their soup (making sure Aramis had an extra portion), Aramis was finally able to converse with his brothers _almost_ as if everything was normal. They spoke of the trip home, the inn they'd find by sunset; how happy Treville would be to see them—maybe even enough so to give them all a leave to the south, where it was still warmer. After about an hour, when Athos and Porthos had begun to pack their things and Aramis remained snuggly by the fire, Porthos caught Athos's eye. The leader nodded shortly and the two made their way to Aramis's side once again.

The man was lost in thought, but both noticed he seemed at least less haunted than before.

"Aramis?" started Porthos. "You ready to ride?"

Starting slightly, Aramis smiled easily and gazed at his beloved horse fondly. "If it means getting home, then yes, please."

Porthos smiles, but Athos does not. Crouching down, the cynical soldier leaned close in front of his brother and placed a hand at the crook of Aramis's neck. "Aramis, you need to know. Porthos and I would go to hell to find you,"

Aramis's mouth opened and hand raised to wave off their worries, but Porthos nudged the back of his head softly. "Let 'im finish, idiot."

Glaring, Aramis kept silent.

Athos nodded, and continued in a strong murmur. "You are our brother, Aramis. There is nothing in this world or the next that would stop us from saving you; even if it's from yourself. You must believe that," he paused, letting Aramis's eyes drop to the ground, expression oozing with shame. "You are not alone, brother, and you never will be."

When his gaze finally lifted, both of his brothers were staring at him with love in their eyes and pride on their features. There was a lump in his throat the size of France, but he nodded anyway.

Then, after a moment, Athos stood tall and Porthos reached out a steady hand toward Aramis. "C'mon, brother. Let's go home."

Aramis found himself just staring at the hand for many seconds before a slow, glowing smile began to light up his face. "Best plan I've heard all week."

Behind them, Athos's entire being warmed and he knew that one day, one day everything would truly be alright.

 **End.**

* * *

 **A/N:** A great many thanks, again! May this December 31st be safe and hope-filled for you all.

~Strider


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